


Fingerless Gloves Are Dumb

by Mishiin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Glove Kink, Kinda?, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, M/M, One Shot, gotta love those stupid gloves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishiin/pseuds/Mishiin
Summary: It was a really stupid idea. To take them that is. But they were just sitting there. Left carelessly on Keith’s bed. For the longest time Lance thought these things were fused to Keith’s hands permanently. He doesn’t know what possessed him to take the things.orI write a silly one-shot where Lance gets curious about Keith's gloves and dances by himself.





	Fingerless Gloves Are Dumb

It was a really stupid idea. To take them that is. But they were just sitting there. Left carelessly on Keith’s bed. For the longest time Lance thought these things were fused to Keith’s hands permanently. He doesn’t know what possessed him to take the things.

 

He scowls down at them like it’s their fault he took them out of Keith’s room. His legs and arms are crossed as he sits on the floor, looking at the stupid black fingerless things.

 

He went into Keith’s room to talk to him about something, his concerns about Team Voltron going forward, but the mullet head wasn’t even there. Probably training or something and for some reason forgot his gloves. It was weird. Lance wasn’t used to seeing them not on Keith’s pasty hands.

 

In a moment of insanity (ok and maybe a little curiosity) he picked them up. When he heard footsteps coming down the corridor he shoved the things in his jacket and ran back into his room.

 

He panicked ok? Stress had been constant for him lately.

 

Lance rubs a hand across his chin, considering the leather gloves.

 

“What is the big deal with these things anyway?” He asks himself. To this very day Lance is completely baffled as to why Keith even wears these things. They don’t keep your fingers warm or protect them. Plus a giant hole is cut in the top. Why? It was dumb.

 

It wouldn’t be the first-time Lance questioned Keith’s fashion sense. Or the last he was sure. But still, it sparked a little fizzle of curiosity in his brain.

 

It couldn’t hurt to try them on.

 

The moment he slipped his hand through the glove warning bells went off in his head. If Keith found him out he’d probably kill him. Or mercilessly pound him during training. Lance feels his face heat up. That didn’t come out the way he intended. Not now gay thoughts. Mercilessly… beat him. Yeah, that was better.

 

But too late now because Lance has to know why these things were a third of Keith’s entire identity (after the hair and temper). He wiggles his tan fingers in and notes that despite being worn they were soft and… pretty comfortable. Damn, was this leather?

 

He tightens the wrist with the Velcro there and despite coming up a little shorter on his fingers, he has to admit it looks kinda… cool.

 

A smile is working his way on his face as he flashes a peace sign with the gloved hand. He makes a fist and he feels like he should be a superhero. Go punch a wall in or something.

 

Lance eagerly slips on the other glove, repercussions completely shoved to the back burner. He stands up, gloves on, and makes a fist with both. The scrunch of the leather makes him grin. Definitely feels like he should go fight someone. Like those MMA guys he used to watch back on Earth.

 

Maybe that is why Keith was constantly itching to punch someone in the face.

 

The black leather looks good on his thin fingers, hugging his knuckles. Lance looks up in the full-length mirror in his room and yup he thinks they look pretty damn good on him. Better than Keith even. Of course, he always looks better than Keith.

 

Lance fires finger guns at his reflection, with a wink for good measure. Then a thumbs up. Then a peace sign. Rather than punching someone now he feels like he should be dancing with these on.

 

He gets an idea and runs to his mess of a bed, digging through the sheets until he pulls out an old school iPhone 5. Pidge had found the piece of Earth tech at the space mall, probably to scrap it or use it for something. In the end, they didn’t have much use for it and dumped it on Lance who took it happily.

 

It was a pretty weird selection honestly. A lot of old retro songs and an entire playlist of the weirdest genre of music Lance had ever heard. He didn’t really know what genre it was called. The best way he could describe it was if anime invented disco. In the 80s.  

 

The music grew on him though as it had a great funky kind of bounce to it and more often than not he would find himself bobbing his head or have a skip in his to step to the beat.

 

Pidge had made him speakers to play it on, after much nagging, and now he could jam to whatever he felt like in his room. Lance wasn’t ashamed to admit that he occasionally danced around his bedroom when the feeling struck him. It was good stress relief. And he was a damn good dancer if he said so himself. 

 

Keith may be the better pilot and fighter but Lance could kick his ass in a dance off any day.

 

He plugs in the device, flips through the playlist and selects a song. The song wastes no time in jumping right into the groove and neither does Lance. He leaps up at the beat and strikes a pose. He vogues to the bass drum, and when the electric guitar’s funky warble hits both gloved hands fly out to the sides and hips swing to the staccato.

 

Alright, he has to admit they do look pretty cool. He understands why dancers wear these things. Maybe he should start a dance party with the rest of the paladins.

 

As he bounces and shimmies his jacket keeps slipping off his shoulders, bunching around his elbows. He lets it flow with the music and it sinks down to his wrists. He slides an arm out as he swings his hips lower and lower and flings the jacket across the room with a flourish. It just hits the wall and crumples as Lance continues moving to the rhythm.

 

By the time the beat is winding down he is nice and warm and his heart has a good thump going. He can see his goofy smile in the mirror. His muscles and limbs are singing with energy and as the next song winds up his head is already bobbing to it.

 

It is much slower this time less of an upbeat swing and more of a slow pulse but no less energetic. Lance swings his hips slower. He drags his hands up his sides, gloves catching on his T-shirt, rucking it up. The leather feels a little weird on bare skin.

 

He pushes the thought away with a thrust of his arms, palms flat. He glides his arms down with the groovy synths. A hand finds his way in his hair and the leather pulls slightly at the chestnut strands. He shudders, hazy images of Keith’s fingers twisted in his hair playing out in his head.

 

The leather palms slide down the side of his face. The caress slips down to his neck. He briefly notes that the hide smells like sweat, and something… Keith-y. Lance can’t place the exact scent beyond that. He can't help but think it a nice smell.

 

His lets the gloved hands move up and down his body with the music, wondering how Keith might do it. If he did do it. How his bare fingers would dance up Lance’s sides and the leather palms would press into his hips. The leather is surprisingly warm.

 

He tips his head back with a sigh, the rhythm and his imagination getting the better of him. Hands are on his swaying hips now. He swings in a circle as the gloved palms slide down the inside of his thighs. Lance can almost believe Keith is right there, chest pressed to his back and whispering into his ear-

 

“Hey, Lance can you tur-“

 

His eyes fly open, hands and hips freeze, as Keith just stares from the doorway. His black hair is wet and his swim shorts are dripping. The music is still going and Lance is still, like a rabbit trying to hide from a predator. He feels a flush go up his face and heart flutter as Keith’s eyes flick down to where his hands are.

 

“S-sorry!” Keith stammers, retreating and letting the door hiss shut as if he caught Lance doing something naughtier than just dancing. Alright so it wasn't  _just_ dancing but still.

 

The music is going soft now and Lance’s shoulders slump, blushing hotly. At least Keith didn’t seem to notice that he was wearing his glo- The door violently opens again and Keith bursts in, face fire-red. Lance almost jumps out of his skin and shrieks.

 

“Wait a minute! ARE THOSE MY FUCKING GLOVES!?”

 

Keith’s arms and body block the front door. His room is too small for him to run. This was it. He was doomed. As Keith advances on him he can only think that taking the gloves was definitely a very bad idea.

 

Stupid fingerless gloves.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to use your imagination on what happens next!
> 
> This stupid idea wouldn't leave me alone so I wrote it. A silly one-shot that started with me projecting how I feel about fingerless gloves onto Lance and then it devolves into something completely different. In which aliens somehow get a hold of my iPhone and Lance dances to my playlist. 
> 
> Here is the music I listened to while writing! Comments are appreciated!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwRitWv_6Fw  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCG5kiXRfxQ (Warning: 80s anime proportions)


End file.
